Oedipus Complex
by All Galimatias
Summary: During the Age of Discovery France and England played house with America and Canada as their children, right? As the children grow up, France notices America and Canada displaying an Oedipus Complex on their mother-figure, England. What The FrUK prompt.
1. Chapter 1

"Frog, I said to put him to _bed_, not to bring him back downstairs and make him something to eat! He's never going to sleep now," Arthur complained as he stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, hip jutted out- in a manner rather effeminate- to support a young purple-eyed boy that was probably only still upright due to the fact that Arthur also had his arm wrapped round him.

"Mon chéri, there is a reason that _you_ didn't volunteer to put Alfred to bed," Francis retaliated from his seat, smiling slightly as he glanced at a second blonde haired child that was almost identical to the first. Alfred was happily devouring a loaf of bread- it wasn't even cut up; he was just happily eating it.

"Yes, I hoped that you had the capacity to do it yourself," Arthur sniped, shifting the younger of the two children into his arms. This boy, Matthew, looked between his father and mother-figure, Francis and Arthur respectively, with an air of soft sadness. Despite the fact he was not truly a human child but in fact a young nation, like any other child he did not like his parents fighting. Even if most of the time it was only in a strange kind of humour.

"No, it is because you can't," Francis retorted, standing up and stretching.

Arthur opened his mouth to continue the argument, but was interrupted by Alfred's loud voice informing everyone within a five meter radius that he didn't _need_ to be put to bed, because he was a hero.

Arthur rolled his eyes but didn't reprimand him, just walked into the kitchen and took Alfred by the hand. "Even hero's need to sleep, Alfred."

"Not me! I'm the most awesome-" he cut himself off by dissolving into a yawn.

"I think we let him talk to Gilbert too much," Francis said mildly as Arthur smiled and started shepherding Alfred towards the door, still carrying Matthew.

"He's your friend," Arthur pointed out, before being forced to turn back to Alfred who was prodding his leg and demanding a story before they went to sleep, tiredness momentarily being held at bay.

Francis watched the three for a moment- Arthur promising both that _yes_ he would tell them about the prince and the dragon- before laughing.

"You make such a good mother, _Angleterre_."

"Shut up, Francis," Arthur retorted, turning an adorable shade of red.

The Frenchman laughed again, moving forward and kissing Arthur gently. He felt the younger blonde waver for a moment- kissing Francis, or putting the kids to bed?- before kissing him back as much as he could when he still had one arm around his youngest son.

Francis was just trying to consider how they could remedy this, probably by going with the original plan of putting them to bed, when a sharp pain in his leg caused him to jerk backwards. Wincing, and bending down to rub his sore limb, he found the source of the interruption.

An altogether too gleeful Alfred looked back at him, eyes carrying just a hint of something darker, before the boy turned back to a highly amused Arthur and started pulling him off towards the bedrooms. Francis gaped after them.

"You should pay more attention to me, not Dad!" he heard Alfred proclaim from half way down the corridor and, when he moved forward to look, he saw Matthew nod as if in agreement.

* * *

Francis could not shake off the lingering feeling that somebody was watching him; and wishing him harm. In his very long life, the French Nation had had many times for this sixth sense to be honed, and it very rarely let him down which only made it more worrying. Well, he reasoned internally, as long as it was not Arthur or Ivan glaring at him, he would probably be fine. As his dear _Angleterre_ was sitting beside him at this very moment, and Ivan was busy terrorising innocent Baltic's, Francis decided he was safe enough.

"Frog, I know it's a dietary need for you, but can you please close your mouth and stop catching flies? You're looking more gormless than usual," Arthur asked, looking at Francis sidelong as he watched the table shake as two unknown Nations had a fist fight beneath it. It was a world meeting, and as was tradition, it took little under fifteen minutes- when Ludwig disappeared for a few seconds to get a drink of water- for a fight to break out.

Francis obligingly closed his mouth only for it to curve into a smirk and reopen after a few seconds. "Perhaps it isn't so much that you think I am looking 'gormless', but you are thinking about exactly what else I could be doing with an open mouth."

Arthur flushed instantly. "Must you turn everything into an innuendo, you tosser?"

Grinning, Francis tilted his chair to one side so he could place a kiss to Arthur's neck and murmur his response.

"_Oui_~"

Arthur groaned, and Francis shivered slightly as he felt the sense of being watched intensify. Unable to stand the feeling of mentally having holes burned into him, he looked around, trying to identify who was glaring at him. After a few seconds, he met another pair of bright blue eyes those these were a lighter colour. Alfred was silently staring at him from across the table. It wasn't as though his face was contorted into scowl; indeed, he was showing no sign of aggravation. Except in those blue eyes, which were meeting Francis' own with a _savage_ contempt that didn't make any sense. After a few seconds, the French nation realised that it was not only Alfred who was watching him. At some point Matthew had materialised from nowhere next to him, a second pair of eyes looking at him in the same way though this look of simple loathing was more controlled. It was no less unnerving.

"Arthur-"

"_Was ist los_?"

Francis worry was lost with the arrival of Ludwig and the restoration of order.

As the Nations spilled out of the room and down the corridor with a distinct air of relief, Francis caught Arthur's hand and pulled him off in the opposite direction. He ignored Arthur's half-hearted noises of protest and dragged him into the men's bathroom.

"Francis, whatever perverted thing you're planning is not going to happen," Arthur said quickly, moving backwards to lean against a wall. He reconsidered this and moved.

"It's not that," Francis said, though for a moment he was very tempted to dismiss his worries in favour of more preferable course of action.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe that for a second, Frog."

"Arthur, be quiet for a second. Do you think Alfred and Matthew were acting strange?"

The question obviously threw him. "You what? No. Not really. Why?"

"They were looking at me rather... aggressively."

"Aggressively? Matthew? It's a little bit of a stretch to get Alfred really mad at someone, but Matthew?"

Francis shrugged. "You did not see him; he looked very upset over something."

"Well, what have you done that could rile them both up?" Arthur asked reasonably, deciding to humour his obviously mad partner for the moment.

Here Francis was stumped. "I haven't done anything..."

"I don't believe that either," Arthur replied. "Are you sure you've not groped either of them? Or someone they like?" For a moment, his tone dipped into something accusatory.

"No, I haven't groped anybody," Francis replied with- only slightly put on- indignation. "Only you," he added with a smirk.

That caused him to pause. Blanking out the aggravated- and blushing- Arthur, he thought back for a moment on every time he had ever fallen out with either Matthew or Alfred, or the both of them together, every time he'd been in a situation where one of them was looking at him like that. Almost every time, it had been when Arthur was around. And just now, it had been when Francis had kissed him.

"Maybe that's it," he said thoughtfully, interrupting Arthur. "Maybe it's you."

"Maybe what's me?"

"Maybe you're the reason that they were glaring at me."

"Frog, you're being stupid, they-"

"No, listen _Angleterre_," Francis said quickly, moving forward and covering Arthur's mouth with his hand. "Maybe they're..." He broke off, looking doubtful.

"Jealous?" Arthur pulled Francis' hand away to look at him with a sort of incredulous confusion. "Of me? Why the bloody hell would they be jealous of me?"

"Jealous of _me_, Arthur, because of you," it was much easier to say it now that it was turning into an argument, but that had always been the way between them both.

"Don't be vain, Frog, they wouldn't be jealous of you either."

Francis shook his head impatiently, dismissing a comment on how _everyone_ was jealous of the nation of _l'amour_.

"I mean that they're jealous of my relationship with you."

There was a very long silence, broken when Arthur let out a disbelieving laugh. "Rubbish, of course not. That makes even less sense. Why would anybody be jealous of someone going out with me?" He went slightly red and added quickly, "You're a Frog, you don't count. I mean-"

Francis covered his mouth again but this time with his lips. Smilingly slightly, but still not able to dismiss the lingering sense of apprehension, he pulled back and cupped Arthur's cheek gently.

"_Tu es trop mignon_, Arthur. But I am serious."

Arthur gave him a soft smile that Francis rarely saw. "You're being silly, Francis. And even if they were jealous, you don't need to worry. I wouldn't trade you for either of them, alright?"

It somehow wasn't what he needed to hear, his mind's eye showing him again the twin glares, but he dismissed it. He tilted Arthur's head up a little and kissed him again, and both nations forgot or ignored the original subject of their discussion.

* * *

A few days later Francis found himself yet again the subject of intense glaring. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his eyes darted between Alfred, Matthew and the table. The situation was made all the worse by the fact that Arthur was late; Francis tried to brush off the feeling of vulnerability.

Eventually, he was unable to stand the looks and the fact he still wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve it. Francis got to his feet and gave Ludwig a half-formed excuse before quickly letting himself out of the room and into the empty corridor. It was cooler outside the meeting room, and Francis let out a soft sigh as he let himself relax a little. Starting off down the corridor, he decided to try and locate a glass of water and then phone Arthur to see why he hadn't arrived yet.

It was on his way back from getting a drink that he realised the problem he'd over looked in all of his actions so far. By leaving the meeting room and the steady scowls, he'd left the company of any nations that would act as a deterrent for Alfred and Matthew. And this, Francis reflected with growing unease as he watched the two younger nations walk up the corridor towards him, was a mistake that could be costly.

"Matthew, Alfred. Is the meeting finished?"

"No, we just bailed," Alfred replied with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Why would you do that?"

Alfred opened his mouth, but Matthew cut across him. "We wanted to talk to you."

"Oh?" Francis flinched. "Can't it wait?"

"Not really," Alfred said flatly, folding his arms. "It's about Arthur."

"_Angleterre_?" Francis said slowly. One small part of him momentarily felt a sense of satisfaction that he'd been right, but that was quickly absorbed into the rest of him that was deciding which direction he should run in as both younger nations looked at him in a way distinctly more hostile.

"Yeah, England," Alfred said firmly.

"Francis-" Matthew began, but he was promptly interrupted by his- permanently more assertive- brother.

"You're going to split up with Arthur, okay?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You'll consider yourself completely not with Arthur any more, from now."

Francis looked at him, open mouthed. "America, you might be used to getting your way in international matters, but you don't go around telling people to break up-"

"I'm not telling you, Francis."

"Alfred, you're not-"

"Mattie, this was your idea!"

"What? Matthew?"

The Canadian nation looked entirely unapologetic. "Yes? Alfred's right,  
Francis."

Francis looked between them. "You're both being ridiculous."

"No, your whole thing is ridiculous," Alfred replied. "You... Arthur doesn't need you."

"All you ever do is argue," Matthew interjected, and for a moment Francis was reminded of him as a child, asking why he and Arthur were always fighting.

"And when you're not arguing, you stop him from talking to anyone. He doesn't give anybody any attention, at all, except from you."

" _Vous avez tous deux perdu la raison_…" Francis mumbled incredulously. "Mad."

Neither nation appeared to be in the mood for explanation, especially when one was not presenting itself even to themselves. All either really knew was a soft, burning, _subliminal_ desire to have Francis _gone_.

"Get lost, Francis, or we'll make you."

Had the subject been anything else, Francis would have backed down; he had never been good at fights. But this was _Arthur_ who had been his since before they'd ever found these younger nations sorry continent.

Steadily, he replied, "Both of you should drop this bizarre intention. I have no idea what's got into either of you," he looked at the ground, unable to meet either Alfred or Matthew's darkening eyes. "But whatever it is, it is futile."

There was a brief silence in which Francis dared not look up, that was softly shattered by Matthew's voice that was so quietly threatening.

"On your head."

Francis' eyes snapped up in time to see a fist swing towards the side of his head, but too slow to order his body to do anything to stop it. It collided with his temple in an explosion of pain and the last thing he saw was a pair of twin smiles as he crumpled to the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Scattered droplets of rain sprayed out around Arthur's feet as he hurtled across the deserted car park. Rain crashed down around him, echoing in his ears and forcing his clothes to cling uncomfortably against his skin. Slipping and almost colliding with the door, Arthur managed to pull himself up short just in time. Hurriedly, Arthur pulled the glass door open and skittered inside. He groaned as he realised exactly who was loitering in the doorway.

"Dude, you'd think with your weather you'd bring an umbrella, like, everywhere," Alfred grinned, obviously gleeful at Arthur's bedraggled appearance, eyes running up and down him with a smirk. "You're soaked."

"Thank you for that update. I wasn't aware," Arthur snapped back, relieved that someone else had effectively taken the decision of running back through the rain away from him.

"No problem," Alfred sniggered, leaning back against one of the clear panes that surrounded the glass doors.

Arthur wriggled out of his wet jacket, holding it awkwardly as he refused to drop it on the floor and soak the carpet and more than he already had just by trekking all the water in. He gave Alfred a pointed look; the younger nation looked back at him blankly for a few seconds, so Arthur just threw the soaked clothing at him.

Ignoring Alfred's protests Arthur took off his shoes and socks, dutifully ignoring how he was starting to shiver violently.

"You just going to strip off and walk around like that?" Alfred said with surprise. "Not very professional, is it Artie?"

"Arthur," Arthur corrected. "And don't be ridiculous. I left some spare clothes here the first day we arrived- it's always good to be prepared."

"You are so sad," Alfred said cheerfully.

Arthur snorted and began to walk away down the corridor, searching for the room he'd left the change of clothes in. He shivered again, taking off his wet tie as he walked, now left in just his shirt and trousers.

"How much have I missed?" he asked Alfred, who'd sped up a little to walk next to him, happily trailing his wet jacket on the ground.

"Not much. Grouchy Ludwig. Couple of minor riots. It's all good, really. Why were you late, anyway?

"Flat tire. Four of them. I left it on the road last night rather than parking it properly, because I was so knackered last night... Bet some bastard let them down. I had to get a taxi in, the driver was an idiot, and the gates wouldn't let him in because they've got instructions only to let official cars within this property because of the bloody summit. So I had to run in from there even though it's absolutely chucking it down."

"Not your day," Alfred said, stepping a little closer and sounding a bit sympathetic, to Arthur's gratification.

"Not my day," he acknowledged. Stopping outside one of the closed doors along the corridor, Arthur pulled it open.

"No, idiot, you stay here," Arthur ordered when Alfred attempted to go in in front of him. "Unless you want to see me strip?" he asked sarcastically, slipping past him and closing the door.

His own words reminded him faintly of what Francis had said the day before, in the bathroom. While Arthur was still firmly convinced he was just being paranoid, it did prompt a question.

"Have you seen Francis yet, Alfred? Was he in the meeting?" he called through the door as he took his clothes out of a cupboard on the wall, dropping them on the little table in the centre of the room.

"Yeah, why?"

"Just wondering," Arthur replied as he pulled off his shirt, placing it over the back of a chair. "Was he okay?"

"Looked a bit jittery, actually. He went out about half way through to get a drink, then he didn't come back for a bit so I went to find him with Mattie and he said he was going to lie down somewhere for a bit."

"He's sick?"

"Sounded it."

"Did he say where he went?"

"Nope, but he said he'd come back for the second half after lunch if he felt better."

Arthur frowned as he pulled off his trousers, having gotten on a fresh shirt while they were talking. He thought he heard a soft beep from outside, presumably from his phone in the jacket Alfred was still holding, but ignored it as he finished dressing.

"You can come in," he said to Alfred, putting on dry socks and vaguely wishing he'd been prepared enough to leave a spare pair of shoes.

Alfred traipsed in with the jacket as Arthur moved to put his wet things on one of the radiators. Then, deciding that his dignity was mostly shot anyway, he slid down the radiator and leaned against it, relishing in the warmth of it. He closed his eyes, ignoring Alfred, and leant his head back against the warm metal and briefly wished for a cup of tea to make this momentary haven complete.

His eyes snapped open again as he felt someone's fingers ruffling his hair.

"You look so adorable all rumpled up," Alfred smiled, sitting down next to him and laughing as Arthur batted his hand away.

"Piss off, git," he responded without any real venom, closing his eyes again.

"Aww, but you are," Alfred insisted, and Arthur could hear him shifting about.

"Sure. Pass me my jacket please," Arthur said, holding one hand out in front of him without opening his eyes. When the damp weight met his fingers he pulled it back towards him and searched for his phone in its pockets by memory. Pulling out the device, he automatically hit the buttons that would show him his messages and only then opened his eyes.

"That's strange." The screen was informing he had no missed messages, or calls. "I thought I heard it go a couple of times this morning."

"What?"

"Yes; just now, I swear I heard it."

"Nah, that was mine. Mattie wants to know where I am."

Arthur gave his phone another confused look, but shrugged it off. Sending a brief text to Francis to find out where he was, he relaxed back against the radiator though it was now getting to the stage that it would be uncomfortably hot.

Internally, Arthur began working up the motivation to get up and start to catch up on a mornings work missed. As if he sensed this desire to start actually doing something Alfred let out a faint groan and dropped his head onto Alfred's shoulder.

"What?" Arthur asked, lifting the shoulder up and watching Alfred's head bob about with faint amusement.

"Don't lea-ve," Alfred replied, tone a little bit desperate beneath the whine. "I'm tired."

"Why?"

"Well, it takes a lot of energy to be as heroic as I am. I rescued you from the rain and hypothermia today."

"You did no such thing."

"Well, I helped."

"That makes you a sidekick, does it not?"

Arthur laughed at the traumatised expression on Alfred's face. "Okay, fine. Five minutes. But then you have to get up, you lazy lump. I want to go find Francis before I go apologise to Ludwig for being late."

Not registering Alfred tense ever so slightly on his shoulder, Arthur looked up at the ceiling absently.

"You know, times like this make me remember why I thought you were a cute child."

"What, you don't now? No fair, Artie! I bet I was adorable."

"Mm. Too bad you grew up to be a right little terror."

"I am not a terror," Alfred protested, head weighing a little heavier on Arthur's shoulder as he relaxed into their usual squabbling.

"You aren't so much now," Arthur admitted.

"What am I now?"

"Just an irritating doofus. You've been demoted from terror."

"Not too far from being adorable again though, right?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to view you like you're a child again? There was a war over that, remember? You can't change your mind now."

"I don't want you to view me as a child," Alfred agreed vehemently. "I'm not. But you can't not recognise that I'm awesome."

"You sound like a cross between Peter and Gilbert," Arthur responded. "You need to work on that."

Alfred punched his shoulder and opened his mouth to respond when Arthur's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and, raising an eyebrow slightly at Alfred's penetrating gaze, opened the message.

* * *

Francis looked almost like he was sleeping.

The hinges of the cupboard let out a soft whine of displeasure as Matthew closed them. Soft purple eyes glanced over to the firmly shut door and then back to Frenchman. Francis lay immobile, stretched out along the length of the bed, head against the pillow and arms at his side. His shoes were neatly placed against the wall, jacket on a hook. Matthew sat down in one of the two white chairs and looked at the still man silently. Both their phones lay on the counter top next to the sink.

It hadn't been anything like difficult to get Francis here. He wasn't heavy, and Matthew was strong. And he was invisible. It was shocking how easily people's eyes slipped over him, even when he had an arm wrapped round Francis' waist and was holding the limp Frenchman's arm round his own shoulder and was all but dragging him along. Shocking. And that was why Matthew had been the one to do it, not Alfred. Alfred was far too _garish._

But he was also far more sly than most gave him credit for. Most recognised his intelligence eventually, no matter how well it was camouflaged by his lack of common sense. But sly? Never. But it was Alfred who'd planned this whole merry murder.

Because clearly Francis hadn't been feeling well. He'd left the meeting early, hadn't he, and America and the other one had followed him like caring little nations and relayed the information he'd gone for a lie down. And here he was, wasn't he? In a medical room, the only place in the building with a bed, having a little rest. So convenient that he would be in a place with well-stocked medication.

And when you're sick, your thoughts can get slurred. Forgetful.

Just imagine.

Matthew's gaze slid from Francis closed eyes to the phones. How irritating he would feel now a sense of dim guilt. From the phones to the empty packet of paracetamol next to them.

Closing his eyes, Matthew leant back against the wall and turned his fact up to the ceiling. He contemplated the light staining his eyelids red as he thought. ArthurAlfredFrancis. ArthurAlfredFrancis.

Worth it?

Maybe.

Matthew opened his eyes again and knelt down next to the bed, eyes fixed distastefully on Francis' face. It had felt so good to punch him. But this didn't feel anything like as satisfying. Waiting for the drugs seemed so unfitting.

There was a sound outside and Matthew sprang to his feet and scooped up his phone in one fluid movement. He made to move towards the door and almost crashed straight into someone as they opened it.

For a second he was irrational; his mind empty. "Arthur!"

"No way, Birdie. What the hell is up with you?" Gilbert shoved past him, Antonio following him. "Why the hell would-" The words died, not even the faintest echo of them in the room.

Matthew turned rapidly, expression frightened and panicked. "I thought you were him because I- I called Arthur- Francis isn't moving."

Gilbert swore, eyes standing out even blood-red brighter than usual as his face paled. "Frannie? Francis!" he snapped, both hands going to his friend's wrist.

"He's still breathing," Antonio said rapidly, all traces of his usual cheer and complacency gone. His gaze was sharp as he took in the room, Gilbert nodding as he let go of Francis' wrist.

While their backs were turned, Matthew rapidly sent a text with one hand, the same message to both Alfred and Arthur- though he knew that Alfred's would be switched off. His brother would be the most likely person he'd call if this situation of panic was a real one. Shoving his phone into his pocket before either of the older nations noticed, he hoped that no-one would think too hard about the logic of sending a text when he could have called.

"What the fuck happened?" Gilbert snapped urgently, looking up on Matthew as Antonio pulled Francis upright, pulling back one of his eyelids gently.

Retreating backwards with his hands up Matthew shook his head frantically, eyes wide and worried. "I don't know- I only got here a second ago- I told Arthur and Alfred and then I was coming out and you-"

"Did you call an ambulance?" the Prussian said brusquely, and Matthew hung his head.

Antonio was on the phone in seconds, moving back out the room for more space.

"I'm sorry-"

"Mattie, now is so far from being the time," Gilbert replied, freezing as his eyes fell on the paracetamol packet. "Oh fucking shit."

"What's happened?" Matthew's neck twinged painfully as he looked round quickly to see Alfred and Arthur running towards them, Arthur leading.

Matthew stepped back into the wall as the English nation rushed past him without sparing any of them a glance.

"Francis?"

The name shattered and broke in the air as Arthur breathed it out. Shards lodged in Matthew's throat as he flinched away from the pain and he did not look at Alfred as he silently speculated that he might have done something wrong.

* * *

_So when I published the first part, I didn't really have any intention at all to continue it past that. I really thought that was where it finished. A lot of you lovely peoples who reviewed diagreed with me, so I tried really hard to find out what happened next. It really didn't work for me. But it definitely stayed in my mind, even after all these months, and eventually I found out what happened next. So this still won't be a long one, but here you are all those that have been waiting, if you've been waiting. Here, for all and anything that it is worth to you, it is._


End file.
